


Idle Hands

by KeyholeCat



Series: WMD (Weapon of Mass Despair) [1]
Category: Dangan Ronpa
Genre: Fenrir (Dangan Ronpa), Gen, Mastermind AU, Mastermind Ikusaba Mukuro, Pre-Despair
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-27
Updated: 2014-01-27
Packaged: 2018-01-10 07:08:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1156609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KeyholeCat/pseuds/KeyholeCat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A study in what it means to be a soldier of despair.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Idle Hands

Mukuro Ikusaba could disassemble and reassemble any weapon she got her hands on. It was easy; every part had its place and function. There were no ambiguities or hidden meanings that she couldn’t understand, no pointless formalities. Put it together perfectly, pull the trigger, shoot, kill. Fuck up and you’re dead. Simple. Mukuro liked it that way. She liked not having to try and understand the world vicariously through her sister. Certainly, painting her worldview in despair made her feel closer to Junko, but it didn’t make her any less of a stranger in a crowd of teenage students who were popping their first zits in the mirror while she toured the globe with a machine gun slung over her shoulder and a knife strapped to her hip.

She could handle being an outsider. The stares didn’t bother her, nor did the fact that she was more comfortable speaking English than Japanese. It was the knowledge that there, in the classrooms of Hope’s Peak— in civilized society in general, even— she was utterly useless. Survival in the world of civilians meant something completely different than survival on the battlefield. Instead of loading bullets into a chamber, she’d have to load yen into some landlord’s hand and pray that she had enough for groceries. There was no place for a soldier in such an environment. In a peaceful, civilized society, she couldn’t solve her problems by destroying a target… right?

 -x-x-

It was one of the few times they had a mission in Japan. Suddenly, Mukuro was very busy being a translator as they traveled through small towns in the countryside looking for their target: an infamous rival mercenary group often hired by the yakuza. They were dangerous, sure, but not as dangerous as Fenrir. Still, they might pose some challenge, at least.

They captured one of the group’s agents and brought him in for questioning. Mukuro had to be there to translate if and when he started talking.

“We’re not asking much,” said one of her comrades, a sharpshooter from somewhere in the southern United States. “We just wanna know where all you and your folk are staying.”

“I refuse to speak to a bastard like you,” said the captive in Japanese. In response, his questioner scowled in frustration, recognizing the prisoner’s unfriendly tone.

“Dunno what the hell that means, but it looks like you’re not gonna cooperate.” He looked over at Mukuro. “Talk some sense into this guy, will you?”

Mukuro nodded and approached the prisoner, who was tied up and beaten quite badly already. “If you give us the information we need, I won’t hurt you,” she explained. “Where are you and your people hiding?”

“I will not share a single detail with any of you. Least of all with a child such as yourself.” The prisoner chuckled darkly. “What are you, their plaything? Or do they have a daycare, now?”

“Talk,” she said simply, “or I will shoot off your limbs, one by one.” His limbs were each tied separately to two posts on either side of him, so it would be easy to aim for his arms and legs.

The prisoner burst into laughter. “Wahahaha! What will you do, squirt me with a water gun? Isn’t that toy more for boys, anyway? Hahahaha!” He laughed until tears streamed from his eyes. Meanwhile, she unslung the machine gun from her shoulder.

“What’re you doing? We need him alive—“

“A moment,” she entreated, taking aim. The captive didn’t even notice until the room thundered with gunfire and his laughter turned into agonized screams.

“What the fuck? Are you fucking insane?” shouted her comrade, making a swipe for her gun.

She dodged his grasp and explained, “He refuses to speak with us. I am trying to persuade him.”

The prisoner issued a groan. She had drawn a neat line of bullet wounds across the area just above his elbow. Blood streamed freely down his forearm and seeped into the earth as it dripped from his fingertips. The arm would definitely need to be amputated if he survived the blood loss. She aimed for his right leg next.

“P-please… I have… a family…”

“I doubt that.” She nearly pulled the trigger, but the American stepped in front of her gun.

“Hey, I said don’t kill the man! Give it a rest, alright?”

“Why? He can defend himself if he wants to live.”

“What the—? He’s tied up, for Christ’s sake, how the hell’s he supposed to do that?”

“He can tell us what we want to know at any time in order to stop me.” The scruffy man looked at her quizzically. They both knew that the prisoner would be killed either way. “Not that his defense would be successful...” she muttered softly enough that the wailing victim couldn’t hear, just in case.

“Ikusaba!” A new voice called from behind her. Mukuro scowled; it was their commander. Her comrade nearly flinched, but hid it with a salute. “I don’t recall authorizing the use of firearms in this interrogation. Lower your weapon.”

“Yes, sir.” She slung the gun back over her shoulder.

“Listen,” he said, waving away the unnerved American and sounding surprisingly calm. “You understand why we don’t kill our prisoners right away, don’t you?”

“Yes, sir.” She was still staring at the bleeding man before her. He seemed to have passed out.

“Then why do you kill so many of them? If I didn’t know any better, I’d say that you were deliberately sabotaging our missions.”

“I have never failed a mission, sir,” she corrected.

“Right. But your methods are unorthodox and needlessly messy.”

She finally locked eyes with him. “Why does it matter... as long as the objective is reached?”

He held her gaze for a moment before dipping his head and sighing. “Okay, well. Let’s say this fellow dies and we can’t find any other way to locate our targets. Is that bad?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Why?”

“Because we will have failed.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means…” she fought for the right words, but she didn’t know them. So she said simply, “It means they’re better than us.”

“And…?”

“And… we deserve to be destroyed.”

“Whoa, slow down there. No need to be dramatic.” He made a gesture to indicate that he was holding invisible money. “It means we don’t get paid, soldier! Ikusaba, we are _mercenaries_. We kill people for money, not for… whatever it is you’re here for. What are you here for, anyway?”

“To train, sir.”

“Training?” The commander laughed hoarsely. “So fighting alongside the toughest soldiers in the world is just training to you, huh? I guess I’m not surprised.” She stared at him blankly. “You’re not really much for talking, are you?”

“My English is not very good yet, sir.”

“Better than some of the men around here. You’ve adapted pretty quickly.” He took out a cigarette and lit it. She watched as he took a drag. Weakened himself. Died a little more quickly than usual. He turned his head and exhaled. She held her breath, disgusted. For a soldier to destroy himself in such a way… it was hypocrisy. He killed in order to survive and what does he do? Poison himself. Kill himself. She imagined whipping her knife out and finishing the job. No use in prolonging the inevitable when clearly he’s already yielded to weakness.

His command brought her back to reality. “Go find some bandages and fix him up. And try not to kill him.”

“Yes, sir. Will that be all?”

“For now. Make no mistake, I’m letting you off easy this time. Gonna give you a clean slate.”

“But— sir, you don't need to go easy—“

“No ‘buts’, soldier, that’s an order!”

“Yes, sir.” Without further hesitation, she clicked her heels together and saluted before stalking away to find a first aid kit.

The commander sighed. The world would be a more frightening place if everyone was as single-minded. At the same time, she was probably one of his most obedient troops. Never once had she given her superior officers attitude or shown reluctance, and she was willing to do things at which even more experienced soldiers balked in fear. Most people regarded it as foolishness or boastfulness, but the commander saw it for what it was: utter disregard for human life, including her own.

He gave a last look at the captive, who was clearly on the verge of death. Pity to the souls who found themselves at the wrong end of her sights, he thought.

-x-x-

The letters were delivered to Junko and Mukuro in person. The messenger explained what an honor it was to be chosen to attend Hope’s Peak Academy, as if the two girls didn’t already know, as if they hadn’t been expecting to receive their invitations for weeks. Mukuro ran her finger across the elegant calligraphy and under the tiny black ribbon wrapped around the folded stationery. It’s a bit much, she thought.

As soon as the man was gone, Junko raced through the house and into their shared room. Mukuro followed soon after, though at a slower pace. When she entered, she found her sister sitting on the edge of her bed and conducting an invisible orchestra with a letter opener. The open invitation sat beside her. “What are you doing?” Mukuro asked as if any answer Junko gave would make sense.

“Practicing,” she replied. “We’re going to be _conducting_ some despair-inducing business soon, after all, won’t we?”

“I guess.” She pulled the strings that bound the letter and unfolded the message. She scanned it for the dates and times she needed, skipped the sermon about “the seeds of hope” and whatnot, and tossed the note onto her bedside table.

“We’re going to have so much fun, aren’t we, sis?” Junko threw the letter opener, which soared through the air and stuck to the far wall at an angle. “That is, I’ll have all the fun, while you sit in the corner and be your same old boring, stoic self. Being the brooding hunter is creepy and all, but it’s also way overdone. I don’t get why you don’t just _pounce_ already! You want to make a good first impression, don’tcha?” Mukuro shrugged and glanced over at her closet full of firearms, wondering whether she’d be allowed any weapons within the Academy. Not that the rules would make any difference to her. Junko continued, her tone dropping. “As if you have anything else to do anyway. As if you _would_ do anything else. You’re completely lost without me, aren’t you?” She snickered. “Maybe _I’ll_ run away for three years and leave you all alone, how do you like that?”

“I’d track you down. You’re a celebrity; you’d be easy to fi—”

“Hey, hey, remember that time you made a flower crown for me with poison ivy? You should do that again!”

“Huh? T-that was you who did that… anyway, don’t you have a photoshoot tomorrow? You shouldn’t get rashes, then, right?”

Junko scoffed and crossed her arms. “They should be honored that I’ve even _considered_ gracing them with my unholy presence. Besides, the photo editors could probably use the extra hassle. Or maybe they’d decide it’s so despairingly sexy, they just have to leave them untouched. So there’s no excuse, none at all!” she exclaimed triumphantly. But then, her expression fell suddenly. “Sis, do you even love me?”

Mukuro sat down beside Junko, but did not meet her gaze. “You already know the answer,” she answered stiffly.

“Ugh,” her sister grumbled. “So predictable.”

-x-x-

The tiny bell in the doorway chimed as Mukuro, incognito in a plain black hoodie and backpack, pushed the convenience store door open and stepped inside. “Good afternoon!” said the woman behind the cash register. The girl merely nodded in response and crept down one of the aisles.

Fenrir was in London for a few weeks to gather intel before they would have to travel to Berlin for a mission. Mukuro was there to meet with a representative of their client, who would give them information crucial to the operation. In the meantime, she pretended to browse unfamiliar brands of cream-filled pastries and dried salted meats.

The clock ticked by. It seemed that the representative was running late. She decided to browse through the rest of the store; she was sure it would be strange to see a person examining the same shelf of junk food for more than a few minutes. She passed by fridges of soda bottles and through aisles of over-the-counter medicine.

Maybe she should buy something? Perhaps there were some comic books in stock. She made her way over to the front of the store where the shelves of magazines were on display and skimmed the rows of shiny booklets. This store had a lot of choices for a mere corner shop. There were gaming monthlies, travel brochures, tabloids… her gazed stopped and rested on the collection of fashion magazines. One of the covers, of course, proudly featured her little sister, her long, wavy hair taking up much of the negative space. When had she decided to go blonde? Mukuro couldn’t even remember; they were still so young at the time. Their parents had let them do whatever they wanted, anyway. She picked it up and flipped through the pages until she reached what seemed to be an article featuring models (mostly Junko over and over) displaying what she assumed were the latest fashions around here. It was funny, she thought, that even though Junko didn’t travel quite as much as Mukuro, she had been around the world even more than her older sister through her photo-shoots. It’s like she could be in a million places at once. That’s a whole different kind of power, Mukuro realized. She wondered whether Junko was still as disturbed as she’d been as a child. She hadn’t really stopped to read any of her interviews, so she could only guess. It would be strange to see her words in another language, anyway.

The soldier glanced about to see if her contact had arrived. No luck. She wondered how she could chew them out without getting in trouble. She shrugged and turned her attention back to the girls on the pages. Geez, when did Junko get so… well-endowed? Mukuro usually only saw pictures of her in passing, so she never really noticed before. She looked down at her own chest. Certainly nothing to boast about, there. Funny, people used to think they were identical before Junko bleached her hair and Mukuro’s skin became damaged from the sun. Nowadays, they were almost polar opposites.

The bell chimed as a new customer entered. Mukuro gave a quick peek at the intruder (it was a young woman in business attire, her hair tied up in a bun) and walked back to the only security blind spot in the store, the magazine still in hand. Sure enough, she was joined by the woman. “You’re late.”

“The morning periodical said it would be sunny today,” the woman recited, “but it looks pretty stormy to me.”

What a stupid secret code. “Just give me the documents,” Mukuro said tersely.

The contact leered at her. “How do I know you’re not one of our rivals?”

“If you want Fenrir on your side, then you’ll give me the documents. You’re already late; you don’t really have room to negotiate.”

“What does that have to do with anything?” she retorted, pulling a folder out of her briefcase and handing it over nonetheless.

“Thanks. Now, uh, unless you have additional information, I’m going to pay for this—“ she held up the magazine “—and leave. You’re gonna wait at least three minutes before exiting. If you follow me, snipers will shoot you down.”

“Such paranoia. Have you had incidents in the past?”

“That’s strictly need-to-know information.” She turned to leave.

“Are you sure they’re not up there on the rooftops for you as well?” Mukuro didn’t answer, but continued down the aisle. The woman smiled and began following the girl. “I’ve heard rumors about you, Mukuro Ikusaba.” The mercenary froze. “One of my employer’s men was killed last week by one of your people. Fenrir’s commander allegedly claimed that it was an accident. But you don’t make mistakes when it comes to violence, do you, Mukuro?”

“It was a misunderstanding,” Mukuro lied. “I thought that he was the enemy.”

“What a shame. You know, that man happened to be very special to me…”

Suddenly, the magazine flopped to the floor as Mukuro’s hand shot forward and grasped the woman’s wrist. She had been reaching into an inner pocket and Mukuro’s instincts reacted accordingly. She pulled the wrist away from her body, reached for the area herself, and grasped cold metal. It was a tiny pistol. The woman had just tried to assassinate Mukuro.

The woman panicked, clearly knowing what her assaulter was about to do with her newfound weapon. “Y-you’re in a public place! You can’t kill me here, or it’ll be trouble for you and your gr—“ she was cut off by a sudden, involuntary gasp. She stared at Mukuro, wide-eyed and breathing shakily.

“Our location is the only thing saving you,” she muttered into her victim’s ear. “For now.” She tucked the gun away into her backpack’s side pocket with one hand and pulled a now-bloodied blade out of the contact’s abdomen with the other. The gash was not immediately fatal, and the woman’s dark clothes would make the growing bloodstain less obvious. If it didn’t get attention soon, though, she wouldn’t make it. So much for keeping a low profile.

“If you survive long enough to speak with your employer, tell him we’ll be leaving for Berlin immediately. He should be satisfied with the results of our actions.”

She eyed the magazine that was now lying on the ground. While the woman fell to her knees and clutched her gut, Mukuro picked it up and examined it. It was now half-covered in bloodstains. How appropriate; maybe she should mail it to Junko anonymously, she mused.

She stalked to the front of the store, throwing some money onto the counter as she passed by. “Have a nice day!” the cashier said cheerily.

“Thanks,” the soldier mumbled, and the bell tinkled brightly as she opened and shut the door.

-x-x-

“What? A… a game?”

Junko crossed her arms and leered down her nose at the perplexed girl before her. “You heard me, mortal! I’m not going to repeat myself!”

Mukuro lowered her gaze and stared at the blueprints and scraps of paper which Junko had thrust into her hands. They were covered in sketches, both sloppy and precise, of people (many of whom resembled their classmates to a degree that couldn’t be coincidence) killing each other, of being annihilated in various ways, all with detailed notes in the margins. Mukuro didn’t really know what to make of them, or why Junko had given them to her, but Junko seemed to be very excited about them, so Mukuro guessed she should be excited, too. “A game…”

“Hey, have you got shit in your ears? I said I wouldn’t repeat myself!” Junko repeated.

Mukuro dodged the red claws jabbing towards her ears and continued. “So these drawings… they’re plans? We’re actually going to do this?” Her gaze lingered on one sketch of what seemed to be the headmaster being force-fed a poison apple.

“ _Fuck_ no,” she spat, throwing a hand up and knocking the sheets out of Mukuro’s hands. “These plans are all garbage first drafts! I’m bored of them already. Just throw them in the incinerator or something.”

Mukuro nodded and started to gather the scattered pages. “Okay, but… why a game? Why not just have me kill them?”

Junko giggled sweetly, but rolled her eyes so far back in her head Mukuro thought for sure they’d get stuck. She almost seemed like she was imitating a demon from some cheesy horror film. “Oh, sis! If only you could be despairingly stupid instead of being irritatingly dull. It would really make me smile, y’know?” She let out a sigh, her expression sinking. “Maybe I should just leave you like you left me. I’d be better off without a burden like you holding me back. The loneliness would bring me more despair than you ever could…” As Mukuro stood up, arms full of plans, Junko grabbed her by the shoulders and locked gazes with her sister as her own eyes welled with crocodile tears. “It… it doesn’t matter to you anyway, does it? S-sometimes... I wonder if you even know what despair is?”

Where Mukuro was meant to jump to reassure Junko of her loyalty, she instead experienced a wave of resentment, though her face was masked by her usual stony gaze. She knew Junko was only provoking her, but she couldn’t help but wonder if her twin really knew so little about her. Perhaps Junko was only doing this to give her the desire to prove herself. But she didn’t need to prove herself to anyone. She had murdered and maimed without a second thought. She spilled the blood of mothers and fathers right before their children’s eyes and watched as their tears streamed down their twisted faces. She’d tortured men until they screamed in agony and stuttered over confessions and prayers for deliverance. She had seen more despair than Junko could ever dream of.

“Fine,” Junko spat, shoving Mukuro away, “play your little silent game. Maybe if I’m lucky, it’ll help me forget you’re here, and I won’t have to be reminded of what a fucking _disappointment_ you are!” Mukuro just stared at her and blinked slowly. “Uuuuuugh!” she growled and spun around before stomping across Mukuro’s dorm room floor to the exit. “I don’t even know why I bother coming here. The thanks I get for being a caring sister!”

“This is the first time you’ve been here. It’s only the first day of sch—”

“Well if this is how you treat your guests, then _maybe_ I’ll just find some better company!” Junko released a final screech before slamming Mukuro’s door.

Mukuro stared at the exit for a few moments before clenching her fists and hugging the papers to herself, suddenly doubtful. Maybe Junko was right, maybe she didn’t know anything about despair. She certainly didn’t _feel_ despair like her sister did. Maybe… maybe she needed to try harder. Maybe she needed to create more despair herself rather than rely on Junko’s input. It was certainly worth a try.

She held the stack of papers away from herself again and gazed at the page displayed on top. Yes, that was it. She’d study these plans for inspiration, then go out and cause despair on her own. Perhaps then she’d be a little less useless. Perhaps then Junko might praise her.

It would be different from Fenrir. Mukuro wouldn’t just be doing it for survival this time. She’d _experience_ despair, not just witness it, and then she’d find a purpose. She could feel it.

-x-x-

No. _No._ This was all wrong. Too many of them were falling dead. How could they be tricked so easily? How had they overlooked such an obvious ploy? Who had been in charge of this plan, and how would they be punished?

Their mission had been to wipe out a group of… well, she couldn’t recall whether they were terrorists or mercenaries or just some warlord and his men, but it had turned out to be a trap and now they were being waylaid by aircraft and her comrades were getting blown to bits. She’d seen half her squad decimated within seconds. As she stared at the charred body laid out beside her, it shook her to her core. That could have been her. If she’d been a second slower, if she hadn’t heard the missile ripping through the air towards them, she would be dead.

She gasped for breath as deafening explosions rocked the mountainside. The air was so thin here. She imagined that the other soldiers were struggling even more, for she was hardly exerting herself at this point. It's not like she _wanted_ to just sit back and let the enemy destroy them, but without anti-aircraft guns, there wasn’t much she could do. She’d used up most of her ammo in the initial assault; there had been even more enemy soldiers than they’d expected, which was unheard of. She wondered whether there was a traitor amongst her associates. She wouldn’t put it past some of them. One thing was certain, however: they could not win this fight.

Sure enough, she saw the thick, orange smoke of an emergency flare; they were to retreat at once. Mukuro paled. They had never failed a mission as long as she’d been in their ranks. They were supposed to be the best. The strongest. The smartest. At least, she had thought so, but she’d been wrong before.

Nevertheless, she made a blind run across the rocky terrain, dodging impossibly close calls as helicopters fired upon the mountainside. She could see only a few of her allies following suit; the rest were either in pieces or full of holes. Fortunately for Fenrir, this was only a portion of their troop count; there was a reserve of soldiers back at the base, though considering how valuable each warrior was, it was still a major blow to their forces. At least, that’s what the others would say. In Mukuro’s opinion, any soldier who was killed in combat had deserved it; it was survival of the fittest, after all. Anyone who wasn’t up to par was just asking to die.

She paused behind a large boulder that was jutting out of the ground in order to catch her breath again. God, these Himalayan campaigns were always particularly harsh, for some reason. She took a moment to take stock of what arms she had left: a machete, two hunting knives, two pistols, a grenade, an empty machine gun, and her lucky can of mustard gas. Well, it wasn’t really lucky; she had just nicked it from an enemy soldier a few weeks ago because she thought it was cool at the time. She never really intended to use it because chemical weapons weren’t really to her taste when it came to combat. They didn’t kill as quickly as she could with other methods.

It certainly wasn’t the right kind of gear to take down multiple helicopters. If she wanted to survive, she’d have to escape the warzone. The thought left a sour taste in her mouth. She resignedly began to repack her things. That was when she heard a familiar sound.

“Iku… saba…” Mukuro whipped out her two pistols and targeted the source of the voice. It was the commander, and he was lying on his stomach and very clearly missing a leg. He held his hand out towards her pleadingly, his pink palm a sharp contrast against the rest of his dark skin. She lowered her weapons. “Please… I need… help…”

If it were anyone else, Mukuro wouldn’t hesitate to end their humiliation and leave their carcass behind. But… the commander had been the first one to see the potential in her rather than label her an inexperienced child. All of Fenrir respected him, and he was possibly one of the greatest leaders they’d ever had. It would be a shame to let such a man waste away.

After a few moments of struggle, she had the large man slung over one shoulder. Despite the awkwardness of carrying such a load in rough terrain, she managed to avoid the gun- and missile-fire that showered the mountainside. She ran and ran until the booming explosions became distant. Along the way, she noticed that all of her comrades had vanished. She imagined that they either managed to escape or became casualties.

She spotted a small cave-like structure. That would make for a decent temporary shelter, she supposed. When she entered, she saw that it was fairly small; it was like a giant had poked the tip of its finger into the side of the crag. She set him down so that he was sitting against the back wall and proceeded to bandage the wound and elevate it upon a small stone slab. The commander was silent. He must have passed out along the way, she thought. She stood up, took a few steps back, and looked him over. He didn’t seem to have any other injuries, and he didn’t look dead yet. The other soldiers would surely despair if that happened. The corner of her lips twitched.

“Ah…” His head slowly tilted upwards until he met her gaze. So he wasn’t unconscious, after all. “You did well, Ikusaba… if it had been any other soldier who found me out there, I would have told them to leave me, but I knew you’d be able to… to save a comrade…” A weak smile appeared on his face. “You’re a good soldier, girl. I’ve always known that.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“I owe you a debt of gratitude, it seems. Once we get back to the base, I’ll have to…” He stopped. “Say, Ikusaba, what’s that you’ve got in your hands?”

“Oh.” She held the objects in her hands up for him to see. “Mustard gas and a grenade.”

“Hmm? Oh, that’s right, you carry that damn gas with you everywhere now, don’t y—w-wait, _what the hell are you doing?”_

Mukuro had opened the can and launched it in his direction. Before he could protest any further, she bolted out of the cave and chucked an active grenade at the entrance. It exploded at the base of one of the sides of the entryway, causing it to collapse, fill with rocks, and trap the gas—and the commander—inside.  As she stood a safe distance away, she thought she could hear muffled screaming coming from the wreckage.

“I’m sorry, sir,” she said, her lips curving into a small smile. “I assumed you liked poisoning yourself, but I didn’t have any cigarettes...”

Rather than immediately returning to Fenrir, she tracked down the main base of the ones who had defeated them and launched an assault of her own. By the end of it, she had the leader’s head on a pike.

-x-x-

Classes were as uninteresting as Mukuro had anticipated. She had little desire to involve herself with her classmates’ shenanigans. She expected that they all felt similarly towards her… though sometimes Makoto Naegi would attempt to make her feel included. A smile, maybe, or some light conversation. Mukuro never interacted with him more than she needed to, but she couldn’t help but develop something resembling respect. Luck, his supposed talent, could be the difference between life and death in dire situations. She wondered if it was luck that saved her on the battlefield when there were dozens of bullets whizzing past her ears. Either way, she had to acknowledge that he wasn’t as talentless as other students made him out to be.

Sometimes, while she mindlessly scribbled notes during class, she found herself thinking more and more about Junko’s plot. She had to admit that seeing who would survive a mutual-killing scenario (besides herself) would actually be sort of interesting. Who would win in a shootout, Oowada or Ludenberg? Would someone as frail as Fujisaki kill if they had the opportunity and motivation? It was amusing to think of such possibilities, however unlikely they were. At the end of the day, she and Junko would exchange false stories of students maiming or poisoning each other. Junko enjoyed it for the despair the scenarios induced; Mukuro appreciated it for the morbid curiosity it evoked within her. Unfortunately, but not unsurprisingly, Junko grew bored with these plans, just as she grew bored with everything. Her impatience seemed to be the only thing saving the world from being plunged into despair by her hands. It really is a shame, Mukuro thought. Such developments would certainly be more interesting than the petty acts of despair-inducing mischief in which they occasionally involved themselves.

Having determined that classes were a waste of time, Mukuro devoted her spare energies to fantasizing increasingly about a more engagingly despair-inducing environment. One that would keep her and everyone else on their toes, like back in the days when she didn’t know if she’d wake up with a knife in her back or half of her squad annihilated. She wanted a world where one had to earn their survival the hard way. Mass chaos dictated by each individual’s cunning and instincts. The ideal environment for a true soldier of despair.

Mukuro expressed this much to Junko, whose eyes lit up with excitement at the prospect. “Yes, how perfectly despair-inducing!” she agreed. It would, after all, involve much death and destruction. But though she was more clever and charismatic than her older sister, she lacked the focus to carry out any plot to the letter and would occasionally allow her own campaigns to go awry just to experience the despair of failure. Mukuro was usually the one to clean up the mess… not that she minded much. She did, however, find herself growing more and more obsessed with the concept of her imaginary world. She took to analyzing those around her and gauging how well they’d do in a kill-or-be-killed society. She might not be a super high-school level strategist, but she was pretty damn good at assessing a person’s threat level.

She ruminated on the idea of acting independently. Normally, she’d just do whatever Junko wanted because she never had any ideas of her own; following orders came much more naturally to her.  She supposed that if she wanted to, she could raise the sort of hell she desired without Junko’s instruction, or even without her permission. She certainly had the muscle and firepower to do something drastic. But no, brute force on its own wouldn’t bring the world to its knees in the way she wanted; society itself needed to be undermined, and simply going on a killing spree would hardly accomplish that. Junko would probably know what to do.

“Gosh, Mukuro, you sure do think about senseless violence a lot! You don’t think you need to see a therapist, do you?” Junko teased when Mukuro brought it up again. The elder sister simply scowled in response. Junko rolled her eyes. “What’s a brainless disappointment of a sister like you doing coming up with these ideas, anyway? Don’t you know that if anyone’s gonna fill the world with despair, it’s gonna be me? You’re just a faithful henchman, aren’t you?”

Mukuro clenched her fists despite being familiar with this game, though her gaze remained cold. “I… I thought we were going to bring despair to the world together. You promised. We both promised.”

“Humph. Like I even need you. I’m not so powerless myself, you know! And besides, there are tons of suckers out there that would do anything for a pretty face like mine. What makes you think you’re so special, huh?”

Mukuro didn’t know why she was allowing herself to get angry, but she did. It’s not like she hadn’t heard this speech a dozen times before. Her rage must have been obvious because in the next moment, her sister pouted and looked down. “You’re upset with me now, aren’t you? I’m sorry. I’m a terrible sister. I should die.” Then she turned her gaze up and adopted a wickedly defiant smile. “You’d be sorry then, wouldn’t y—“

“Stop talking.”

In a flash, the tip of Mukuro’s dagger was pressed just beneath Junko’s throat. The soldier straddled her sister’s upright knees and held the blade flush against the skin. Caught off-guard, Junko’s eyes widened for a moment before her expression turned smug. “What will you do to me, dearest sister? Will you slit my throat, right here and now? Killing your own sister in a heat of passion… what despair that would bring us. But it would be so easy for you…” As she said this, her hand slowly slid up Mukuro’s thigh. The soldier responded by pressing the knife just enough so that blood began to well up at the point. It didn’t even faze Junko. “You could never do it. You just don’t know despair like I do.” She sighed resignedly. “How disappoi—“ She cut herself off with a hiss of pain. Mukuro had begun to drag the tip of the blade downwards, twisting it so that Junko would feel it. If she increased the pressure any more, it would definitely scar.

“S-stop it!” Junko cried when the blade finally reached the top button of her shirt. Mukuro obeyed when she felt Junko’s hand wrap around her wrist. “At least spare a fashionista’s clothing, idiot.”

“Is that an order?”

“Of _course_ it is,” she snapped. Then her voice turned smooth and sultry again. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? If I told you exactly what to do? Such a loyal pup. What if I told you to kill yourself? Would you do it for me?” Mukuro said nothing. Junko scowled and scoffed. “You’re waiting for me to give you an order, aren’t you? Well, it’s too late. Your disappointing existence has been a total turn-off.” Mukuro did not object. She shifted as if to sit up straight, but Mukuro still had her legs pinned underneath her. Junko pouted and shot her sister a glare. “Are you gonna move, or am I gonna have to—“

“No.”

“No?” Junko immediately began cackling hysterically. “No?” Tears welled up in her eyes as she shook and gasped for breath. Mukuro wondered how she’d react if she seized Junko’s throat in her hand and squeezed hard. “Oh, sis, don’t you know it’s rude to interrupt? And you just did it twice!” She wiped her eyes. “It’s a good thing I’m so forgiving. Otherwise, I’d scream so loud, the soundproof walls would shatter into a billion pieces!”

“I’ve been thinking about… the order of things, I guess you could say,” Mukuro continued, ignoring her sister. “Specifically, why am I the one subjected to obedience and loyalty when we both know that I could kill you before you had the chance to blink?”

Most people would probably cry mutiny at this point. In fact, that’s what Mukuro had expected. Instead, Junko giggled sweetly. “But you could never kill me, could you, big sis? Haven’t you been listening? You’re pretending to be a big, scary wolf, but you’re really super soft. Like a teddy bear! A teddy bear that kills people.” She dragged her fingers across the line of blood on her chest idly. Mukuro could almost taste the rusty tang on her tongue. “I’m not mad at you for threatening me, by the way. It’s normal for mortals to question God after a while.”

“It’s also normal for mortals to lose faith in their gods...” Mukuro’s blade had now lowered to her side. “Or for mortals to become like gods themselves.”

“True. But who’s to say I won’t fry you with a lightning bolt?”

“I’ve taken worse risks.” She removed herself from Junko’s thighs. Junko adjusted her position and sat cross-legged.

“When did you start getting all these funny thoughts, my darling, sweet, devoted Mukuro?”

“I don’t know,” she answered honestly.

“Ugh. What a fucking _snore_. And here I thought you were getting interesting for once.” She threw herself backwards against the mattress, growling in frustration. The girl just couldn’t sit still, as usual.

“Junko.” She paused, waiting for Junko to respond, but she was met by more groaning. Mukuro sighed and gazed at the pictures of defaced fashion models that Junko had pinned to her dorm room’s walls. “I don’t want us to wait for despair anymore.  We aren’t going to get anywhere with these incidental accidents you’ve been causing. We need to work on a specific mission. We need… a catalyst, or something. But… I’m not used to strategizing and that sort of thing. So…” She trailed off, glancing at Junko out of the corner of her eye. She seemed amused.

“Oh? Could it be that you’re asking _me_ to help _you?”_ She smirked. “So even when you come up with your own evil plan, you still need me to lead you by the nose? Well…” She sat up and rose out of bed, then walked a few paces before turning to face Mukuro, arms crossed. “If you think that you could do a better job than me at wreaking despair, then by all means, go right ahead. I won’t get in your way. But if you fuck up, don’t expect me to save your ugly ass!”

“Fine. But... don’t expect me to save yours either.”

“Eh?”

Mukuro gave the girl standing before her a stern look. “Junko. I succeed in every mission that I take on, no matter the consequences. If you get into trouble, I can’t ensure your safety if there’s any chance my involvement could compromise the operation.”

Junko grinned widely. “Oh? Is that a promise? Am I gonna be all by my lonesome from now on?”

Mukuro looked down to her clenched fists as if ashamed. “No. I need you.”

“You’ve got that right,” she said fiercely. “If it weren’t for me, you’d still be out shitting in a bush somewhere.” Mukuro felt hard, ruby claws gently trace across her jawline as Junko tipped her chin upwards. “I am the only reason you came back, aren’t I? You kept seeing your dear, breathtakingly attractive sister on the magazine stands and you realized just what you were missing.  Isn’t that so?”

“No,” She answered immediately. “That… that isn’t why I came back. Not at all.” Junko blinked. Mukuro continued. “I left Fenrir because I faced execution.” Junko’s lips parted, her face painted with surprise; a rare sight. She had never bothered ask why Mukuro has left the group, so the soldier never got to tell the story. “I was identified as the murderer of a high-ranking officer, so I was supposed to be put to death by a firing squad. Instead, I escaped and killed them all.” She shrugged. “It wasn’t as much of a challenge as I’d hoped. I thought maybe I’d have a better time fighting for something bigger than money back here at home.”

Junko now grasped her sister’s freckled face between her hands. “Big sis… you mean you came back looking for despair? You were unhappy that no one around you understood true despair, so you returned to someone who did?”

“Uh… you could say that, I guess.”

“You _guess_ ,” Junko jeered. “All this powerless language coming from a killing machine. If you want people to take you seriously, you’re going to have to stop being so spineless.” She sighed dramatically. “Looks like I’ll have to train you how to talk to people without swallowing your own tongue, as despair-inducing as that would be.”

“Um, you don’t have to—“

“Ugh, it could take years! But I’m willing to sacrifice my precious time for the sake of the final result. Assuming you don’t completely fail and fall on your ass.” She paused, yawning and stretching her arms above her head. “But we’ll do that another day! I need my beauty rest. Well, not really, but I can only take so much of you at once. Get out of my fucking room!”

And so Mukuro found herself standing outside her little sister’s room, suddenly shouldered with the burden of bringing the ultimate despair to the world. Mukuro Ikusaba, the dull soldier who allegedly had no backbone to speak of unless someone was barking orders at her. “Shit,” she muttered. What had she just gotten herself into? Junko was the charismatic genius, not her. If only Junko’s attention span wasn’t so fickle… but that was just it. Junko needed someone to keep her focused, and Mukuro needed someone to back her up. As long as Junko was behind her, she could do anything.

Mukuro kept reassuring herself as she returned to her room. She hadn’t felt such anticipation since she abandoned her family for Fenrir. Would this venture prove as disappointing? Would Junko end up getting in her way after all? She shook her head as she turned her doorknob and entered her room. She couldn’t afford to dwell on such troublesome thoughts. She needed to keep calm and remain as stoic as ever, else her classmates may take notice, particularly the observant ones like Kirigiri. Right now, no one must know of their plans but the twins.

Nevertheless, Mukuro didn’t get much sleep that night.

 -x-x-

The night of Mukuro’s return from service was nothing special. There was no touching reunion with her family, no “welcome home” celebration, no news team curious about the girl who had mysteriously disappeared for three years. One day, she simply appeared at her home’s doorstep, almost like a cat waiting to be let in.

“Hi,” she said when someone finally answered the door. Junko stood in the doorway and stared at her. Was she shocked to see her long lost sister there? Or was she expecting her to say something else? “Er… I’m back.”

At this, Junko smiled sweetly. For a fleeting moment, she thought that Junko had grown out of her days as a troublemaker. That is, until she slammed the door in Mukuro’s face.

Nope, she hadn’t changed a goddamn bit. Mukuro sighed and stepped away from the front door, making her way through the bushes and pressing her palms and nose against the front window. She rapped her knuckles against the glass. After a few seconds, Junko opened the curtains and looked almost as surprised as she did before. “Let me in,” the elder sister insisted. Junko made a sour face and shut the curtains. Mukuro had the strangest feeling that she wouldn’t be allowed entry. So, she returned to the front step and sat down with her arms around her knees. It’s not like she wasn’t used to sleeping outside.

It was about an hour before the front door opened of its own accord. Junko leaned out of the entrance and looked down at her sister, who craned her neck to meet her gaze. “God, you’re even uglier than before.” Mukuro blinked. “Well, are you going to come in or are you just going to sit there like a fucking vegetable?” Wary of trickery, the young soldier hesitated, but Junko merely disappeared from the doorway, leaving it wide open.

Mukuro crept into the building, eyes darting to locate an escape if necessary. Junko stood in the middle of the foyer tapping her foot theatrically. “So,” she began, “you’ve decided to make a glorious return home after a character-building adventure. You think you can just go back to the way things were?” She stamped her foot. “You’ve got a lot of fuckin’ nerve!” Mukuro didn’t respond, but stared at Junko blankly. “Christ, you’re still as _stupid_ as you were, too.”

“If you want me to leave, I’ll go. I’ll find a hotel somewhere.”

“Why, so you can take some stranger there and get laid? Y’know, I would have thought you’d be the type that’s into girls, but I guess I can’t be right all the time, huh?”

“Huh? What do you—“ She was cut off by a sudden, tight embrace. Junko’s arms were wrapped around Mukuro’s shoulders as she squeezed hard and buried her face into her big sister’s shoulder. Mukuro froze. “Am I that repulsive to you? Are you so unhappy to see your little sister?”

The girl’s body trembled against her and Mukuro realized that she was crying. “No! I mean…” She wasn’t sure which questions she was saying no to. She sighed resignedly and did what she hoped resembled a hug in return. “I missed you too, Junko.”

“Missed me… how much?” Junko breathed into her sister’s ear.

“Um… a lot?” _I didn’t expect there to be a quiz,_ Mukuro thought.

Junko hummed appreciatively, took a step back, and held her victim’s face in her palms. Mukuro was sure that it was bright red. “My darling, loyal, obedient Mukuro. As pathetic and worthless a human as the day you were born, yet here you are, so eager to please.”

Of course, what she was really saying was _“Do as I say, or else.”_ Well, it’s not like Mukuro had anything else to do. She hadn’t exactly come home with any particular goal in mind. Going along with Junko’s schemes was better than sitting around doing nothing.

“First order of business,” Junko continued, “Take a fucking shower!” She shoved Mukuro towards the bathroom. “This is civilized society! If you go around smelling like a wet dog, people are going to expect me to keep you on a leash and clean up your shit, and that’s just a pain in the ass for me, y’know?”

Mukuro obeyed and quickly found herself standing under a steady stream of hot water—something she hadn’t experienced in months. Once all traces of worldly grime had been washed from her skin, she turned the water cold and imagined she was back in one of the shitty showers in Fenrir’s base. When she opened her eyes, though, the illusion was shattered. This water was too clear, too clean. She cupped her hands and let it pool in her palms before splashing it upon her face.

It would take time to re-adapt to civilian life, she knew. Hopefully Junko had some plot in mind she could put her mind to. The devil finds work for idle hands, as they say.

-x-x-

“It’s awful! I’m gonna make the seamstress do it completely over and then set her on fire,” declared Junko.

Mukuro stood before a full-length mirror with Junko gazing over her shoulder. The fashionista had insisted that Mukuro look the part of the world’s most despair-inducing soldier, so she’d designed and commissioned a new uniform for her. It vaguely resembled an old SS officer uniform (how morbidly appropriate, she thought), but sparsely decorated with Hope’s Peak insignia, miscellaneous medals, and whatever else Junko had thought to throw in. She even had a beret with the school’s coat of arms on it.

“What are these?” Mukuro asked, examining a few of the medals that resembled some sort of animal.

“Oh! Our mascot, of course!”

“Mascot? What about Monōkami?”

“Monōkami this, Monōkami that! There’s more to this world than wolves, Mukuro-chan!”

“That’s not what I—“

“Besides, I ran the numbers myself and have concluded that bears are at least sixty times cuter than dogs.”

“You ‘calculated’ that, did you?” Mukuro grumbled. Junko merely replied with a wink. “Fine,” she continued, crossing her arms, “I’ll use the damn bear. But I still want Monōkami built, too.”

“Yeah, whatever. More importantly, what do you think of the getup?” Junko threw herself onto the elder sister’s shoulder. “Sexy, huh? Or, well, it would be on anyone else. Looks kinda stupid on you.”

Mukuro shrugged. It was a bit excessive, but she didn’t really care either way.

“Ugh, still so wishy-washy and boring. I needed _something_ to do while you were off having fun blowing shit up.”

The soldier looked sharply at the girl. “You mean you did this instead of beginning the preparations?”

“No, no, I got some cronies to do all that. It’s all taken care of! You can thank me later.” Mukuro stared at her. “Don’t you give me that dirty fuckin’ look, I said it’s done, alright? Soon that oaf will swear us in, the students will all work their asses off building our prison, and then _bam!_ The humans won’t know what hit ‘em!”

“Right.” Mukuro looked herself over in the mirror again. In only a few months she’d be isolated from Junko and in total control of their environment. The world would watch as the youths meant to bring hope to the world would kill each other in fits of despair. Any remaining resistance would fall into chaos and their mission would be accomplished. “I’m ready.”

“Of course you are. Otherwise, I’d take control myself! Though why I haven’t is a mystery even to me. Who knows, maybe I’ll stage a coup once the game begins!”

“I’m looking forward to it,” she mused. She knew very well that Junko would stick to the rules for only so long, if only to cause herself more suffering.  That was the only reason she’d ever let Mukuro take charge, really; to be usurped by such a pathetic sister caused her great despair, and she relished it. It would follow, then, that she’d do exactly the same to Mukuro. She wouldn’t endure the pain of the game forever; it wasn’t in Junko’s nature to follow instructions. The operation was destined be in jeopardy.

Regardless, Mukuro was conditioned to adapt. Whatever obstacles arose, presented by her sister or otherwise, would be dealt with swiftly and without prejudice. Mukuro had never failed a mission, after all.

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback is encouraged!! If you enjoyed this, [Pt. 2 of this series](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1289047) is the actual mutual killing game under mastermind mukuro.  
> oh and uh here's some [art of her in her mastermind outfit](http://keyholecat.tumblr.com/post/58633703083/we-are-all-a-part-of-the-same-compost-heap-we-are) for your viewing pleasure.


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